This week’s photo prompt is provided by Thank you artycaptures!

By Neel Anil Panicker

Don Afzal Bhai was thankful the room was sound proof. He had ensured that.

That way when hard leather connected with soft skin and the shrieking and the wailing and the crying and the pleading commenced, it stayed and died within its four walls.

And as the hour rolled over into the next and the shrieks and wails gave way to soft whispered oohs and aahs, a whiff of fresh jasmine wafted around the exquisitely decked up curtained room that boasted of soft low lights peeping out of highly ornate wooden lampshades that otherwise would have enjoyed pride of place in a millionaire’s abode.

Placed at the four corners abutting the master bed that spread out invitingly like the spiralling waters of a giant oceanic wave full of froth and fury, the lights served another larger purpose.

Its beams fell directly on the massive master bed where lay the most feared mafia don of Old Delhi, naked like a new born, eyes shut, body and mind long lost to the sensual and sexual charms of the woman booby strapped to his body.

FFfAW Challenge-Week of August 15, 2017

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FFfAW Challenge Week of August 8, 2017

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This week’s photo prompt is provided by Dorothy. Thank you Dorothy!

By Neel Anil Panicker

“How long have you been with me, Salim?”

‘Around forty years, Afzal Bhai.’

“Forty one years, three months and two days.”

Salim nodded his head.

His boss had an elephantine memory.

The two were at Begum Jahanara Park, the sprawling fifty acre green belt in the heart of Old City.

An oasis, a much needed succor from the daily heat and grind of existence that life in a big city had become, any city for that matter, least of all the capital city of India.

An avowed morning person, the don loved coming to the Park, located a stone’s throw from Sumer Manzil.

The chirping of the birds, the early morning dew on soft grass, the all around stillness__there was a ring of freshness in the air that the don found very invigorating.

An hour’s stroll through the tree lined cemented pathways past bright eyed dangling dahlias and smiling angel white lilies worked like magic for his mind, body, and soul, though of the last his detractors wondered if he had any.

It was Salim who had requested his boss to postpone the durbar by an hour.

“Ok now,  what’s bugging you?”

‘Boss…it’s Liza, your daughter.’

“What about her?”

‘Boss, she…she’s in love…with…Al’.

#neelanilpanicker2017 #partnineofdangerouslove #thediscovery#fiction












FFfAW Challenge-Week of 8-01-2017

Flash  Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by PJ at




This week’s photo prompt is provided by TJ Paris. Thank you TJ!

By Neel Anil Panicker

TIME: 4:30





The tears traverse the path of vengeance.

They stream down Liza’s face with great force; a fusillade of water bursts not unlike a long dormant volcano that finally erupts with brute centrifugal energy__hot molten lava seeping through the skin and burning the insides of her ravaged soul.

They slow down, ultimately forming into tiny little rivulets of salt and water that soak with the dank fairness of her soft skin, the usually crimson red cheeks turning  several shades lighter to an almost creamish grey, as if consonance with and announcing their solidarity with her fractious emotions.

As a cool breeze blows in through the half opened windows, she sits, her legs crossed, arms entwined to her chest, all body limbs as if in solidarity with the melange of emotions that run helter skelter in her head that’s neatly wrapped under thick, lustrous half golden hairs.

Amidst utter silence, time floats by unhurriedly as Liza warms herself in the comfy comfort of her soda cum bed by the wall, her beautiful arms extending out of an off-shoulder olive brown nightie, the soft as a tissue hands cradling to her chest a life sized all-white teddy bear.

Both the teddy and its owner stare at the world outside through the netted slits of the Mughal era styled old world psychedelic windows, the latter pondering and wondering at the topsy turvy events that have marked her short two score life on Earth.

The blare of the loudspeaker from atop the minarets of the Jama Masjid pull her out of her reverie.

It’s the call for Azaan__the prayer of the faithful; a time to renew one’s pact with Allah, a time to pay her daily ritualistic obeisance; a time to ask Him for mercy, seek solace, and perhaps acquire guidance for the dangerous life changing mission that she has planned for herself.

#neelanilpanicker2017 #episode#partfourofdangerouslove #dangerouslove#fiction#333words






FFfAW Challenge-Week of July 25, 2017

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This week’s photo prompt is provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode. Thank you Louise!

By Neel Anil Panicker

Some people are genetically programmed to self destruct.

Take Michael Gonsalves for instance. Friend, savior, benefactor, altruist__ Micky was all this and then some more.

Dutiful son to elderly cataract ridden parents; loving husband to a devoted wife; doting father to an adorable baby girl, barely two months old; and rock star buddy to one and all.

It was then that lightning struck. It came in the form of Julie, a thirty something twice married, recently widowed female form with enough sex appeal to set the Ganges on fire.

She, his new office boss, within a month, became his life’s whole sole goal.

Soon salacious details of their hour-long capers reached the ears of his loved ones.

His wife and parents threatened, cajoled, persuaded, reprimanded, shouted, screamed, even begged but to no avail.

He was hooked onto her like a teen turned slave to marijuana.

Six months later it was all over. He went kaput__there was no job, no Julie, no wife and no family to go back to.

His friends sniggered; said he might as well have committed suicide.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #FFfAW #fiction#roackingtheboat


FFfAW Challenge-Week of July 18, 2017

Hosted by the wonderful PJ at


By Neel Anil Panicker

At first the whispers were faint. So faint that I mistook them for the sound of leaves, leaves rustling against the stony entrance, their swaying propelled by the slight cool breeze that blew in from behind the forest.

I eased myself very carefully behind the rocks, curling my legs together onto the wet, muddy earth,    mindful that even the slightest of sounds would alert whoever it was inside the tunnel.

I held my breath and looked ahead.

“We can’t risk being here for long. Very soon they will be at us.”

A very distinct human voice. A man’s. Probably a  young man’s, I surmised.

‘Yes, you are right, Adil. We can’t hide here for long. It’s time to contact Munna Bhai’.

Another voice.

This time, its owner, a slightly older man; the voice, a bit hoarse, quite similar to the ones that I had heard in the weekly vegetable market a furlong away from where we lived.

A couple of other voices came alive in the form of brief uuhs and hmms.

Crouched behind an ill formed rock, I wondered who these men were, hiding in a dark tunnel in the middle of a forest that was a protected No Zone area.

©neelanilpanciker2017 #FFfAW #fiction

For those interested in reading the first part of this story kindly click on this link :



FFfAW Challenge-Week of July 11, 2017

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By Neel Anil Panicker

Like statues they stood, their sweat drenched bodies transfixed, as if cursed by some evil omen.

With shell shocked eyes they gazed upwards, disbelief and incredulity written all over their over their torturous visages. Time stood still all around; at the town squares, the serpentine bylanes, beside the tall languorous trees that abutted them, around nondescript corner shops, along hospital compounds, and even on the usually busy main road that divided the small town.

As the seconds rolled over into minutes and then trundled onto hours, the initial muted renderings slowly metamorphosed into loud discordant noises, as angry men and women vent their spleen and rained the clouds above with the choicest of invectives.

Their ire was directed towards the second floor Court House building where stood, handcuffed, not quite unlike a common criminal, their once favourite son, their blue eyed boy, the once shy toddler from an impoverished family who grew up to become one of the biggest and most loved stars to have ever shone on the cinematic galaxy.

As the police led him away, the heckling, jostling, elbowing and hooting gave way to ear splitting abuses.

The gathered who had once welcomed his rise to glory with bouquets were now

bidding adieu to his fall to disgrace with brickbats.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #fiction #FFfAW #thefall


FFfAW Challenge-Week of July 4, 2017

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Snakes and Ladders

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Kecia Spartin. Thank you Kecia!

By Neel Anil Panicker

Abdul Rahman Mallick had only one passion in life: to make money.

Loads and loads of money. Money that he made by hook or crook. Money that he made in dollars or in Indian rupees, in Bahraini Rials or in Swiss Francs.

Money that he made by smiling or by killing.

For him the means did not matter, the end was more important.

Half a decade of chasing money had still not quenched his thirst.

It seemed making money was the sole reason for his living.

He lived in a remote island off the Arabian Sea, an all glass snake shaped 50 room villa, it was his den, from where he conducted his multi-national businesses, ensconced in his study, seated in all gold King Cobra shaped chair.

Being surrounded by life sized replicas of the deadly reptile was his fetish, his way of ensuring that he never ever forgot his poverty stricken childhood spent in a remote Central India hamlet, and his resolve to find an antidote for the deathly venom of poverty.

©neelanilpanciker2017 #FFfAW #SNAKES&LADDERS  #FICTION#173words